


Black Diamond Necklace

by spj



Series: Trick or Treat! [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: I dont know if its graphic, World War II, and abuse, but there are depictions of violence, its probably triggering for that too, mild China/Japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spj/pseuds/spj
Summary: China can't forget, and Japan can't remember.





	Black Diamond Necklace

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> what an auspicious beginning to my long awaited halloween advent with my best homeslice and enabler fini hahahaha  
> long story short, we have a halloween advent running. this is the first story.
> 
> anyway, this story is really about the current relationship between china and japan and how wwii still hangs over them both today. i tried to be as historically accurate as possible. i included a lot of references to things that may not be common knowledge, so i'll have a (complete as possible) note at the bottom!
> 
> Halloween Advent, Day 1  
> Prompt: Shadow

Shadows plague Yao during the day.

 

The gentle rays of the before-morning sun wash over Beijing, quieting the busy city for just a moment, the way a mother hushes her baby before a car honks and it cries again. Yao shuts his eyes against the light until the inside of his eyelids burst into red stars and it starts to hurt and he has to open them.

He’s lying facing his bookshelf, sparsely populated though it was. On the bottom-most shelf, lying face-down, was Mao’s _Little Red Book_. The plastic red cover looked faintly black at the corners, and the pages themselves had crinkled and turned yellow in the sun.

Yao himself had never read it. After all, he was physically present when Mao wrote every single one of those essays and speeches. But Yao couldn’t help but feel an echo of shame when he looked at the book – even in memory, Mao had a way of making him feel like a child berated by his father.

On the middle shelf were a handful of textbooks, ones left over from the Cultural Revolution. A Chinese textbook, a Maths textbook – Yao hadn’t seen the need to update his collection since then. It didn’t feel like much had really changed.

(Except, everything has.)

On his top shelf lay a haphazard pile of 连环画 (comic books), as if a child had left them strewn around his room and his mother had irritatedly shoved them onto an empty shelf. Yao could see a few titles from where he lay: 草原英雄小姐妹 (Little Grassland Heroes), 高尔基的故事 (Gorky’s Story), 钢铁是怎样炼成的 (How the Steel Was Tempered), 雷锋 (Lei Feng)… It’s been a while since he’s even flipped through them. Perhaps he should donate them to the children – but then, what modern Chinese child would even want to read such outdated material?

With a slight groan – Yao was getting on in years, and no attempt by his government to revitalize his spirit would change that – Yao sat up and swung his legs off the bed, slipping his feet into the slippers waiting at the end of his mattress.

Yao passed his desk on the way to the bathroom, brushing his fingers over the cover of _Lu Xun: A Collection of Essays and Short Stories_ , which was splayed open against the desk to save his page. Yao briefly considered turning it over and using a bookmark, but decided against it. Who knew what he might see if he glanced at a page? It was better not to know.

Yao inspected himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth and combed his hair for work.

There were bruises left over from his nightmares mottled under his eyes, like painted sunflowers where his eyes should be.

He prodded at his cheek and watched the skin crinkle under his finger. He looked especially sallow this morning, he thought, like a jaundiced patient waiting to die. Would a cannibal look this way? Yao had never met one, but it seemed possible. To feed only off one’s peers could not possibly be good nutrition.

Yao splashed water onto his face and rubbed his skin clean.

But that’s what was scariest about cannibals, Yao mused, scrubbing a towel over his face. They look just like everyone else.

As he got dressed, Yao touched the fading bruise around his throat, a five-fingered embrace clutching tightly at his skin.

It still hurt.

It was a brand-name bruise, a gift from a former lover, a black diamond necklace that came highly recommended from all the most respected catalogues and critics, and Yao didn’t want it. Yao didn’t want it but he couldn’t stop calloused hands from draping it over his neck anyway, from pulling the bands tight and whispering, “You’re so pretty,” when what was meant was, “You’re mine.”

Yao couldn’t stop the cursed brand from seeping into his skin and lacerating his neck and skin and veins, couldn’t stop it from killing him, until it did.

And when he woke up again much, much, much later he lost himself but somehow found the strength to finally fight back. The more he fought back the angrier and less like himself he felt. He bit and tore at those calloused hands, shot them, screamed at them in his dreams until they finally went away and he was free.

Then when it was safe, he tore that black diamond necklace off, threw it away, smashed the fucking thing into pieces but _still_ , the scars and bruises remained wrapped around his neck, a permanent shadow gift that came with the first.

Yao couldn’t decide if he wanted to hide it or show it off.

Although it didn’t matter, not really.

No one else could see it anyway.

These were _his_ shadows, _his_ demons, and even if he screamed out loud no one would hear him but himself.

 

~ 

 

Shadows plague Kiku at night.

 

He always sleeps easy, but he never sleeps well.

Every night is the same. He closes his eyes in the dark of his own room in the warmth of his own bed, and re-opens them in a sea on fire.

He knows the scene. He’s lived it. He’s felt it.

 

Kiku begins his days the same way: a jog by the riverside, a quick shower, slipping into one of his many business-suits, and riding his bicycle to work.

This day was a special day – China was here to visit. His president wanted to discuss another trade deal, since America couldn’t seem to hold it together, and China always attended any diplomatic visits to Japan.

Kiku bowed to Yao as he and his president walked into the meeting room. “It is good to see you again, China.”

Yao barely inclined his head. “You as well.”

Yao looked well – he was wearing the smart, dark green military uniform of his homeland; his eyes were bright with life; his skin seemed smooth and soft; and he was wearing a warm red scarf around his neck to stave off the chill of autumn.

As their leaders began to talk business, Kiku moved to stand next to Yao. “It seems we aren’t needed here. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Yao glanced at him and frowned, but when Kiku moved for the door, Yao followed.

They walked through the quiet halls of the _Kantei_ side-by-side.

“You look well,” Kiku told Yao in Chinese.

Yao used Japanese, his words short and clipped. “Thank you.”

Kiku eyed the red scarf that still wrapped snugly around Yao’s neck. “Are you cold?”

Yao shook his head. “I am fine.”

“Then let me take your scarf for you,” Kiku said, beginning to reach for it. “You don’t have to carry it around.”

Yao said nothing. Kiku thought this might be a refusal, but Yao didn’t stop Kiku from slowly unwrapping the scarf from his neck.

Yao’s neck looked pale and soft as usual, without a single mark.

“What do you see?” Yao asked softly. They were the first words he had initiated since arriving in Japan.

Kiku looked up to meet Yao’s eyes, confused. “This is a very nice scarf,” he said, unsure of what Yao wanted.

Kiku only had a second of warning before Yao slammed him against the wall, face distorting with anger. “You coward,” Yao growled. “Of course you can’t see it. You live your days with your head buried in a delusion of grandeur, as if what _you did_ was some heroic feat, when you even bother to remember it at all. _I_ am the only one who knows. I am the only one who remembers. The world may stand on your side now, but that will not last forever. My president cares about the survival of my people for the next thirty years. _I_ care about their survival for the next five thousand. I can wait. I can outlast you all. And I _will_ wait until _you remember_.”

He released Kiku just in time for some aides to turn the corner into the hallway. When they saw Kiku on the ground, gasping for air, they immediately called for help despite Kiku’s protests for them not to.

“What happened?” they asked. “Was it you?” They turned accusing eyes on China.

Yao didn’t answer, staring impassively back at them.  

Kiku coughed. “It was him,” he croaked. “But this is not the time to fight. Please bring me a glass of water.”

The aides scrambled over themselves to do as their country asked. By the time they finally left the corridor, Yao was gone. He must have left amid the confusion.

Kiku sighed.

Yao had left his scarf behind.

 

Kiku dreams of a sea of fire.

Yao is drowning, screaming, crying for help that Kiku knows won’t come. Yao’s eyes fix on Kiku. They burn.

Kiku wraps his hands around Yao’s throat. Yao gurgles, first with fear, then with desperation, and finally, with anger. Yao rips Kiku’s hands away from his neck and Kiku can see ten beautiful fingerprints left behind, like a black diamond necklace.

Kiku feels delighted.

Suddenly, something pushes Kiku from behind, and Kiku… falls.

And then it is him in the sea of fire, it is he who is drowning and burning, smoke filling his lungs, unable to scream for the pain. He can feel his hair and eyes and nose and mouth all melting away until there is nothing left.

Kiku screams.

 

Kiku began his day same way: a jog by the riverside, a quick shower, slipping into one of his many business-suits, and riding his bicycle to work.

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello, if you've made it here, i hope you enjoyed it! here are some of the references i made:
> 
> 1\. lu xun: a famous chinese short-story writer/essayist who wrote around the 1920s. he felt that the chinese spirit was weak, and believed literature could bring back a sense of pride and honor. one of his stories is called "Diary of a Madman" and it involves calling chinese culture at that time a culture of "cannibalism" (wonder what he'd think of capitalism... haha)  
> 2\. the bruise around yao's throat - japan really did a number on china during wwii. hetalia stops at just a scar, but i feel that a bruise is more personal and easy to see (and no one says he cant have both XD). there were concentration camps, labor camps, human experiments, comfort women, etc. it's something that still weighs heavily on chinese people today.  
> 3\. yao can't decide if he should hide it or show it off - there are sort of two ways of seeing japan's time in china. everyone agrees it was terrible, but for some, it represents china's weakness, and is something that should be hidden. for others, they want the world to know about china's grievances, and want to show it off (china also did a pretty rad job of beating japan off with barely any outside help and there's tons of chiense tv shows about that).  
> 4\. china's shadows in the day - china's not a very popular country in the world rn, for pretty legit reasons, but china's present has grown out of a war-torn past. china has to see the scars of his past in everything he does during the day.
> 
> 5\. sea of fire dream - im reasonably sure i lifted this from godzilla. but it's a reference to the atomic bomb. i think the devastation brought by godzilla in the first godzilla movie (where godzilla was more or less a metaphor for the atomic bombs) was described as a "sea of fire."  
> 6\. kiku doesn't see the bruise - japan hasn't apologized for what it did in wwii. its not taught in their history books, the japanese self defense forces' flag is still the imperial japanese flag (the sun with rays coming out), and japanese leaders still visit a shrine (Imperial Shrine of Yasukuni) dedicated to the japanese wwii soldiers every year.  
> 7\. yao choking kiku - china basically flexes its biceps at japan every so often cos it's still mad. im reasonably sure the disputes over fishing boats in the south china sea have to do with this as well.  
> 8\. aides blaming china - basically, a pretty common way to view this whole mess is that china got fucked over before, during, and after wwii. after the uk/america drugged china up on opioids and left it to rot, japan came in and razed the whole place. afterward, japan got help from america to rebuild itself (to prevent russia from getting at japan) while china had to rebuild by itself. and in the end, china is considered an 'enemy to democracy.' it kind of stings.  
> 9\. kiku's second fire dream - japan was both aggressor and victim in wwii. it set china on fire and left it to burn, but in the end, america unleashed the most inhumane implements of mass murder known to man on japan and still hasnt apologized. 
> 
> i hope this wasn't too heavy for anyone, and that no one felt like i was blaming them. its no individual's fault. but some sides haven't admitted to what they did, even going so far as to hide it, and i just wanted to write about my frustration about this.  
> if you're still here, i hope you enjoyed it!


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